


Counting Seconds Through the Night

by ignorance_on_fire



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: Depression, Ficlet, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Hair Brushing, Past Character Death, Post-SING (Music Video), Sad, Self-Harm, They/Them Cherri, WKIL Station, they've done the finding but arent quite family yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignorance_on_fire/pseuds/ignorance_on_fire
Summary: Starts just after SING, deals with both Cherri and The Girl's guilt and grief.
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Cherri Cola & The Girl
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Counting Seconds Through the Night

It takes Cherri a long time to come to terms with the fact that Kobra is really gone. They had begged him not to go, told him to be smart, stay safe. But they had known that he would go anyway. Besides the fact that his whole crew was going, save for Cherri, he loved that girl with his whole heart. Still. He chose The Girl over his partner.

No one tells you what to do when you lose someone. How to fill the empty space in your day, in your thoughts, in your bed. That’s something you have to come up with on your own, and for a while, Cherri didn’t. They laid in bed and stared at the wall until someone made them move to a chair to stare in a different direction. They tried not to stare at the drawer that held the ring of scrap, carefully formed, with shards of rainbow cd in place of a stone. No one tells you what to do when your plans for the rest of your life get cut short.

It isn’t until Cherri is up and about again that they realize that The Girl is still staying at the station. Rage and sadness and guilt flood their mouth like blood, and they turn away. What was so special about this scrawny little kid with tangled hair anyway? Special enough to die for? Every time the door opens or the floor creaks, for months, they look up expecting Kobra, but instead see her. Cherri had liked her well enough, even if they were never too excited about kids. They had been prepared to be a caregiver, part of the village to raise the child, but now all they could see was eyes haunted with death.

Crying at night isn’t new, but it doesn’t help much anymore. Cherri stops wasting water and uses their nights flicking a lighter against their palm. In the quiet between the strikes of flint, they swear they hear choked sobs through the wall, swallowed like the way Kobra cried after his first Drac fight. Cherri stops, letting the lighter burn in the dark for a moment before swinging their legs off the side of the bed and pressing their bare feet on the cold floor. Every step feels like a mile and they pause in the doorway to the main room. There’s a lump on the threadbare sofa, a blanket that’s crying and trying to be quiet about it.

They sit on the far end of the sofa, a few feet from The Girl, debating whether to say anything. The flickering light from the lighter bounces around the room as they light one of the small candles on a table. When Cherri turns back to The Girl, she is peeking out from the blanket, just her face visible, with snotty nose and wet cheeks. There’s death in her face, yes, but Cherri had been wrong still. This was a burden for her, too. They remembered when Jet had first shown up at the station, newly orphaned and starving. It was the same haunting in her eyes.

Guilt once again finds its way into Cherri’s mouth, but this time it tastes like bile, and they force themself to swallow it back. Still not speaking, they hand a rag to The Girl to wipe her face, which she takes, the blanket falling to her shoulders. Her hair was matted and hung loose around her shoulders. Finally, Cherri lets themself speak, voice rough. “Kobes did your hair, didn’t he?” She nods, new tears springing to her eyes. “He used to do mine too. I think I remember how, if you want me to try.” She nods again. “Let me go get a brush, ok? Stay here.”

They hadn’t really been prepared to go through the box of things that Kobra left at the station, but they didn’t own one, and D’s room was off-limits. Kneeling beside the wooden crate, Cherri carefully pulled out clothes and tapes and wrenches, trying to memorize how they had been placed. It would be lying to say a few tears didn’t fall. Finally, they find a hairbrush, but before they can start to put the box back together, they hear a shuffling behind them. Grabbing one of the larger tools from the floor, they spin, getting up on one knee and ready to fight, until they see a tiny blanket ghost, carrying the small candle. Cherri’s shoulders relax some and they lower the screwdriver. “You scared me, kid. All right, come on, sit there.” They point to the edge of their bed and take the candle from The Girl, placing it on the table before sitting behind her. “It’s gonna pull, I’m not as good as...” they pause. “I’m not very good at this.”

It does pull, and Cherri apologizes every time they hear her breath catch. As they brushed, starting at the ends of her curly hair, trying to carefully work out the knots, they couldn’t help but remember how gentle Kobra’s hands had been in their own hair. It was probably in quite a state; Cherri hadn’t looked in a mirror in nearly a month, let alone brushed or washed their hair. It would probably be a while before they could handle that. Maybe they’d ask D to crop it short, to make it easier to care for. The Girl whines as the brush tugs at a particularly stubborn knot, pulling Cherri from their thoughts. By the time her hair is mostly detangled and in two low pigtails, the sun is barely starting to peek over the horizon. Cherri stands and places the hairbrush back in the box. 

“You should go back to sleep,” they say, voice low. “It’s almost morning.” The Girl nods and slides off the bed, gathering the abandoned blanket. As she leaves the room, Cherri adds, quietly, “I’m sorry for how awful I’ve been to you. It’s not your fault.” They wouldn’t have known she even heard, except for a small pause in her step, followed by a hum. Then she was gone again and Cherri was alone again, though maybe less alone than before.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work I've published so I'm nervous! Thanks to Kat and Ness for proofreading for me!


End file.
